In For A Penny, In For A Pound
by Inuvik
Summary: When a mercenary at the end of his rope burst into a Red Cross clinic in the middle of a night, the young doctor on duty is dragged into an adventure that will save more than just one life. Thomas Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth.


_AN : For you Cansei and IcyWaters. You both lightened my days more than once with your reviews and our discussions about our favorite characters. Thank you so much :D_

* * *

_« You're getting lost inside this monster of yours._

_- I'm using this monster to help other people just like my father did._

_- For Thomas Wayne, helping others wasn't about proving anything to anyone, including himself. »_

_Batman Begins_

* * *

**In For A Penny, In For A Pound**

**Burma,**

**Sixty-five miles North-East of Rangoon,**

**July, 20th 1969.**

The night suddenly breathed a sigh of relief. Silence. At last, the rain had stopped.

Lying on the raised cot in his office, Thomas Wayne opened his eyes, and rolled on his side to slide a hand out of the mosquito net. His fingers brushed the surface of the waters that had found their way in the clinic despite the sandbags circling it.

Calf-deep, he estimated. His anguish calmed down.

His eyes turned toward the window and, despite the clouds hiding the moon, his mind flew a hundred thousand miles up, toward the Apollo 11 space capsule and its three pioneer astronauts. During a brief moment, he felt again today's nervous euphoria as they all clustered in his office to listen to the radio. Like millions of people on earth, they had held their breaths as the capsule landed. Just to think about that particular moment, Thomas realized he was doing so again.

A smile drew on his face as he took a deep breath.

He wished he could see the moon light... or better, be on the manor's roof to observe earth's satellite with the telescope. They headed back home now. Like he would in a couple of days. His mission with Doctors Without Borders was finished. Already. Five months he was here...

His blood pressure increased as his focus shifted back to the astronauts and he measured the dangers still awaiting the explorers. Restless, his mind brought him back to Martha and his eyes sparkled in the dark. Impatience, joy. Anxiety... sadness to leave his colleagues and the villagers tightened his throat. He was needed here, he was needed in Gotham too. This idea of an elevated railroad system linking the three major islands deserved to be examined. And he had the perfect man for that. The only problem was going to poach his old university room mate out of the NASA space program. Yes. With Lucius at his sides, it would work.

Feeling too excited to close his eyes, Thomas stood up and, water indeed at mid-calf, he headed toward his desk.

He was lighting the oil lamp in order to go and check on the couple of patients sleeping on the other side of the wall, when the door creaked open. Frowning, Thomas pivoted on his heels when a low voice sounded:

"Come with me, doc. I'm in need of your services."

In the weak halo of light, Thomas saw a bulky Caucasian male of more than six feet tall, armed with a compact automatic rifle standing in the door-frame.

His guts twisted.

"The clinic is opened to all. Come back in the morning," Thomas replied calmly, noticing the military fatigues and the scarf tied around his head. A mercenary without any doubt. Like the whole south Asia region, the country was unstable and attracted them. Some worked for the government to hunt down the rebels from the New Mon State Party, others for drug traffickers...

"Come with me now."

"And if I say no?"

The mercenary came forward and armed the rifle. "I'll drag you if I have to."

All right. Point taken.

Thomas swallowed a lump while the man, keeping his weapon aimed at him, opened his backpack and began to sweep inside the supplies on the counter on his left. Despite the threat, Thomas stepped ahead. His heart was knocking so hard it felt it was going to burst through his chest, but he would be damned if he let the mercenary steal the few medicines they had.

"Tell me for what kind of emergency you need me for and I'll pack what is necessary."

The mercenary craned his neck toward him.

"Infected gunshot wound."

Of course... As if he really needed to ask! "I have one bag ready for emergencies," he said as he walked toward the corner.

Quickly, he added a few supplies before saying: "I'm ready."

"Chlorine tablets?"

Jaw clenched, Thomas nodded. "I have some inside."

"Good. Take your jacket and let's go," the mercenary said as he closed his bag and put it on his shoulders. "For both our sakes, don't make a sound and, above all, don't put your hands where you can't see."

Where I can't see? Thomas' eyes widened out of dread as he realized that he was in for a hike in a hostile environment by night.

All a sudden, his legs felt wobbly, and his feet refused to budge. But he was not left any choice in that matter. After spraying them quickly with DDT, the mercenary pushed him outside and dragged him into the banana plantation behind the clinic.

Even if the clouds in the sky had not kept the moon from lighting their path, the vegetation soon became too dense for the astral body to be of any help. In the weak halo the mercenary's flashlight provided, the overgrowing, hairy creepers around them drew threatening shapes while the thick humus underfoot seemed to be animated with a surreal life. Like ink blotch pictures, the shadows let one's mind roam free on their interpretation.

Thomas clenched his jaw tight. And he who thought he had managed to overcome his aversion for snakes and spiders, while as he stared at the darkness around him, he began to wonder if all tigers and panthers had indeed been eradicated from this part of Burma.

The young doctor shook his head, not feeling very proud of himself.

Now he understood his grandfather's reaction when he had told him it was sad that there were no wolves living in nature anymore. The elder had bluntly replied to his twelve year old grandson that if he only heard one of their ominous cries again, he would grab the rifle and not come back until he had killed it.

You'd better be worried about the mosquitoes swarming around your head, the voice of reason warned him. The parasite causing malaria was indeed the most serious threat around him, along with the rifle hanging over the mercenary's shoulder.

With fatigue came the need to focus on putting one foot in front of the other on the climbing trail, and Thomas' fears of the wildlife faded without him noticing it. At least until dawn revealed his surroundings in greyish tones, and the jungle appeared, an entanglement of moss-covered trunks, branches, creepers and leaves.

Another hour passed by and a bleak light spread, denying nature its usual vivid colors when, finally, the mercenary stopped to check their heading on a map. With a groan, Thomas relieved his shoulders from his backpack and sat down on the spot.

"How far?" he asked, noticing with some relief that the temperature had cooled down a bit.

"Far," the mercenary replied before handing him a small bamboo shoot from which a smell of meat and ginger rose.

With a small nod, Thomas grabbed the food, and while he ate and drank, he examined the mercenary putting a twenty-ounce, metal flask under a thin stream running down a rock. It was hard to tell with all the mud covering him and the scarf on his head, but he seemed to be in his mid-thirties, and he was definitively Caucasian, though his accent was slightly off, neither American nor English. Maybe Australian.

"Let me see your arm," he said upon noticing what looked like a dirty bandage on the man's left biceps as the latter put a tablet of chlorine in the flask, closed it and shook to dissolve.

"No need. Let's go," the man growled, resuming his way without another word or glance.

Thomas muttered a curse and followed, feeling only half replete and barely more rested.

Either to make up for the brief pause or because it was now clear enough to see their surroundings, the mercenary sped up their pace, and maintained it even when the terrain started to climb. The hours passed by, and as they reached the top of a hill, a smell of ashes stung Thomas' nostrils. Worried that a fire was spreading nearby, the young doctor raised his eyes toward the canopy. His foot skidded on the muddy edge of the trail and he hurtled down a few feet on his rear before a trunk stopped him. With a curse, the mercenary came back toward him, grabbed his arm and lifted him onto his feet.

Thomas nodded his gratitude but was rewarded by a curt "Pay attention!" that irritated him deeply. He was exhausted. He needed a break for God's sake! But that did not seem in the plans. Furious, Thomas watched the man's square build vanish completely through the thick foliage.

How could the man expect him to follow such a hellish pace? That was crazy. Just crazy. And considering his twenty-fourth place in Gotham's last marathon, it was little to say. But there he guessed laid the difference between athletes that pushed their bodies to the limits for thrill, and those who did it to survive.

Thomas thought about sitting down and like a two-year old and having a tantrum to obtain a break. However, the realization that there was a man waiting for his help somewhere ahead pushed him to clench his jaw and endure a little while longer.

So they pursued their way, going more up than down in a jungle that became sparser with altitude, and was replaced with a cooler, mixed forest. Shivering, Thomas untied the jacket from around his waist and put it on.

The afternoon was well advanced when, upon arriving at a rope bridge crossing a thirty-foot wide, raging stream, the mercenary stopped again. Exhausted and thirsty, the young doctor staggered toward the bank to refresh himself when a hand on his collar roughly dragged him back.

A shot echoed and a bullet hit the ground a mere inch from his right foot.

The mercenary forced him to crouch behind a large, moss-covered trunk when a second shot reverberated. A splinter of wood brushed his head, and the young doctor raised his arms in protection over him. Heart racing, he glanced in alert at the jungle around him as two – three, four more shots echoed.

And suddenly, silence.

Not daring to breathe anymore, Thomas stayed still while the seconds dropped by, expecting the fight to resume.

"It's all right, you can move out. Hey!"

Startled, Thomas raised his head, and saw the mercenary's dirty face and clear blue, bloodshot eyes staring at him with a scary intensity. He shook his head. No way. He was not going to move until he knew in what fine mess he had been dragged into.

What crossed Thomas' mind at that moment, he had absolutely no idea, but as the mercenary bent toward him to grab his arm, he saw the gun in the man's waistband at hand's reach. Before he could think, he was on his feet aiming at the mercenary.

"Don't move!" he said as he tried to keep his fear from distorting his voice.

The mercenary looked at him with a dumbstruck expression on the face. But the shock in the icy blue eyes faded fast and anger replaced it.

"Put that down before you hurt yourself."

At once, Thomas removed the gun's safety. He had seen police officers manipulate – and sadly even use their weapons too often in Gotham General's parking lots, rooms and corridors when accompanying wounded members of street gangs.

"I'll rephrase. Put that down before I hurt you."

The aggressive tone coupled with the wild look caused a painful lump to form in the young doctor's throat. But the doctor was determined to stand his ground and instead of stepping backward, straightened his arm.

Thomas never saw the attack.

A sharp hit sent the gun flying out of his hand, and the next second, he crashed face down on the muddy ground, his arm painfully twisted behind his back. He expected his shoulder to pop when the mercenary let go of him and walked away to pick up the gun in a pond of muddy water with a curse.

"They've probably signaled our position," the man groaned while he quickly cleaned the weapon. "We've got to hurry."

They? Who they? Thomas wondered as the barrel of the automatic rifle dug in his back.

The young doctor took a deep breath to ease his racing heart and crossed the bridge. But as he stepped onto the other bank, he caught sight of a form lying under the trees on his left. Without thinking, he veered off course and was kneeling next to an Asiatic man in paramilitary fatigues when the mercenary caught him. Thomas jerked his arm away and rolled the soldier on his back to give him assistance when pain exploded in his head.

When he managed to force his heavy eyelids to open, it took Thomas a certain moment for his sight to clear while his pounding brain tried to understand why jolts made him feel like he was going to fall any second. Another lapse went by before he understood that the green and brownish patches passing before his eyes were the ground. With this realization, his mind cleared and everything made sense.

"Put me down..."

His voice came out weak and raspy. Damn... his head hurt so much... so this was what it did to be knocked out... Thomas made himself a note to show greater empathy to patients coming out of the same kind of predicament in the future. If he had a future. "Put me down," he repeated, focusing to articulate.

He was wondering if the mercenary had heard him when the jungle swirled fast in front of his eyes and he hit the ground hard.

Furious at the lack of care, Thomas raised on his elbows and slowly sat up, laying one hand on the ground while his sense of balance stabilized. Next to him, the mercenary collapsed on his knees too, but for once, the young doctor could not bring himself to feel any sympathy. He was too tired, too numb, too confused. Too much in a fury. Hungry and thirsty... When minutes passed by without the mercenary moving at all, Thomas' instinct of survival began to consider giving him the slip. But it was the same instinct that told him not to move. They were walking for so long; he was lost.

The mercenary straightened up. "Let's go," he whispered, his voice weak, distant.

Desperate, Thomas looked at the man staggering on his wobbly legs, and raise his gun.

Bastard, he thought, nodding nonetheless.

"Who tried to kill us?" he asked as he stood up with difficulty.

"Some of my former associates. You have your answer, now move on or I'll knock you out again."

Thomas took a deep breath. The man could barely stand up, but he knew the threat was not empty. "Dammit..." he muttered, wondering what the mercenary could have done for his buddies to want to kill him. What was he doing here, in the middle of a brawl between crooks?

As they walked in silence, dusk slowly started to erase the outlines of the leaves and trunks, dissolving nature in ominous shadows.

He felt his legs would not carry him a yard further when the mercenary suddenly stopped dead in his track and seized his automatic rifle. At once, Thomas raised his eyes in alarm and saw the leaves ten yards in front of them flutter. He was cringing when a young Burmese boy, no more than seven years old, leaped out, crying:

"NAYIAN! NAYIAN!"

Aghast, Thomas watched the boy hurtling down the path toward them, other words flooding out of his mouth so fast that he could not even tell in which dialect the kid spoke.

Letting the rifle hang around his shoulder, the mercenary caught the boy in his arms and exchanged a few words with him as he moved up the trail, leaving Thomas stunned behind.

"Com'on, doc. We're almost there."

Less than half an hour later, the mercenary hauled the kid on top of a large rock and climbed onto it before pivoting and offering a helping hand. Thomas seized it and joined them up before following them in a cluster of trees and rocks. Shortly after, he arrived at the bottom of a cliff that offered a natural shelter.

"Sa ya wun!" The boy cried as he ran toward the young woman with long dark hair in a ponytail sitting around a weak campfire.

Upon hearing the word for doctor, Thomas forgot his pains and sores and noticed a lying silhouette behind the woman.

"He received a bullet in the thigh," the mercenary said as the young doctor crouched at an unconscious child's side. A Burmese too, maybe ten or eleven. A thousand of questions sprung but he pushed them all his aside as he began to undress the dirty scarf tied around the wound.

Darkness were spreading when, an hour later, Thomas finally straightened up and relieved the numbness out of his legs.

Next to the fire, the young woman raised her eyes from the metal pot in which their meal brewed, and nodded toward the wounded child, worry making her dark eyes shine with tears.

Wishing he spoke Burmese, Thomas smiled to reassure her. "He's going to be fine," he said, noticing with a certain relief that the mercenary, lying on his side against a rock, was dead to the world.

The young woman joined her hands together and bent her head to notify her gratitude before pouring some of the broth in a wooden cup and handing it to him with a smile. Thomas nodded and thanked her. While she poured another one and moved with it toward the child, he sat down against a nearby trunk, cautiously keeping the man in his line of vision.

Though tasteless, the warm rice noodles soup did a world of good on his empty stomach. As the young doctor drank it, he cast a look around to search for the other boy, and when he did not see him, he wondered if he had gone to pick up some wood or watch their camp to allow the mercenary to rest. His eyes turned back on the mercenary with confusion; a brief point of resentment sprung, but it was swept away by concern for the Burmese. The young woman seemed too young to be the two children's mother... their older sister or an aunt? But what were they doing here in company of a mercenary? From what or who were they running away exactly?

At the village, they had heard about the army hunting down some rebels from the New Mon State Party. A lot of innocent civilians had been thrown on the roads to escape from the fights, and they expected to receive some of these refugees at the clinic. Could they be from one of the raided villages? But then, why were they pursued by the mercenary's former buddies instead of soldiers?

Aware that there was something here that he did not understand, and to some extent did not want to, Thomas finished the soup with sadness. He felt his eyes closing when he remembered the mercenary's wounded arm. Despite his exhaustion, he stood up and headed toward him to give it a look, guessing that the man belonged to the grumpy category of patients easier to treat when they were out. But he had barely begun to untie the piece of fabric around the bicep when the mercenary's eyes sprung open and he jerked his helping hand away.

Surprised by the vicious move from someone who seemed deeply asleep, Thomas cringed, and fell back while the mercenary rolled away, stood up, and stared confused around him on shaky legs.

The young woman's voice sounded and Thomas craned his neck to see her. The flames of the camp fire drew shadows on her face, but even without the pleading tone in her voice, they did not conceal her worry. Feeling like he was intruding, Thomas watched them exchanging a few more words before the mercenary picked up his rifle and jacket, and moved away.

Knowing better than to run after the man to force him to be tended, the young doctor cast an interrogative look at the young woman, but she hastily averted her eyes and turned her back.

"Dammit..." Thomas muttered as he went back to his previous resting spot.

* * *

A small tap on the shoulder and a sweet smell just under his nose woke him up the next morning with a start. Confused, Thomas sat up and saw the youngest child handing him a piece of dried jackfruit.

"Thank you," he told him with a smile.

The child bowed his head and moved back toward the elder near the dead fire. Thomas cast a look around, and saw the woman helping the wounded to sit up. Noticing the mercenary's absence with a point of concern, the young doctor stood up and headed toward his present patient.

"Hold still," he said calmly with a soft smile as he removed the pus oozing bandage circling the child's thigh.

He had just finished dressing it again when the mercenary finally appeared, talking fast in Burmese. Whatever he said, his words distressed the young woman greatly. Then, without asking for his opinion, the mercenary hauled the wounded child on his feet.

"You help him walk, doc."

As the mercenary passed by him, Thomas frowned upon catching sight of the feverish eyes.

"Let me take a look at your arm first," he said firmly, now really concerned by the general appearance of the mercenary.

"I took care of it already and it's not infected. Follow Mi Swe in silence and mind your surroundings."

The mercenary moved away briskly before stopping dead in his track and come back fast toward him, his gun in hand.

"Hey, doc? You know how to use this I think."

"I don't need a gun," Thomas replied. The man was sweating though it was cool enough. If not infection then what? "Did you catch malaria? I have some quinine and can give you an antipyretic pill for the fever."

The mercenary nodded and said: "Perhaps later, now we have to leave. Take the gun, doc."

And on that last word, the man forced the weapon into Thomas' hands and quickly moved away, leaving the doctor behind and only half reassured to have found a diagnosis.

"Sa ya wun?" the young woman asked with a small, hesitant voice.

Thomas craned his head and saw Mi Swe's dark eyes pleading him to join the others on the trail. She seemed terrified.

With the young woman leading the way with the youngest boy, and him behind with his limping patient, their company progressed at a much much slower pace than the preceding day. By the time the sun's rays fell straight on the canopy, Thomas felt a different kind of worry grasp him. His colleagues must have raised the alarm. The mercenary had no idea who he had kidnapped, no idea of the manhunt he had triggered on top of his former companions'. As soon as his father was briefed, and that was going to happen sooner rather than later, he would not be surprised if the American army would go searching for him.

In for a penny... Thomas let out a deep sigh and observed the Burmese walking without complaining. Thomas cursed against life that forced young children to become resilient to this kind of situation.

A small cry sounded. Fear!

Thomas stopped dead in his tracks and before he could react, he saw two men in the same paramilitary fatigues as the mercenary's blocking their path.

The child in his arms tensed just as a shot echoed. Eyes wide with dread, he saw the man in front of him collapsing on the ground and he barely had taken a breath when the other fell dead too.

"Nayian?" the young child cried, rushing away from Mi Swe's arms to rush into the mercenary's. Stepping out from the foliage, the mercenary caught him and with the kid on an arm and his rifle on the other, he took the group's lead.

"Come, quick!" he said, putting down the child.

Scared, Thomas stared by the two corpses, shocked by the alacrity and the violence of the ambush.

"Doc!" the mercenary said with anger as he took the wounded child's other arm and dragged them up the trail.

The mercenary stayed with them this time, forcing them to move faster, carrying the youngest boy each time the path became too treacherous. Thomas' guts twisted upon seeing the kid clinging onto the mercenary's neck as if he were a safe buoy, while the mercenary also helped Mi Swe pick herself up each time she stumbled over a root or a rock, and this happened more and more often as exhaustion gained them all.

When the mercenary finally stopped several hours later in a narrow clearing that hairy creepers and dense foliage protected like a cocoon, everybody collapsed on the spot. All save the mercenary who nervously continued to pace around, staring suspiciously at their surroundings.

"We'll wait here for dark before moving further," the man whispered before moving away.

"Hey, wait, let me take a look at you arm first," Thomas said, stretching a hand to open his backpack.

"I need to pee, doc."

The young doctor let out a deep sigh of annoyance, shook his head, and moved to check on the child's thigh instead. It was still swollen, and was expected, but it seemed that the swelling had begun to decrease while the fever was almost gone.

As he finished cleaning the wound, Mi Swe kneeled next to them, bringing them some bread and dried fruits. But as he ate them, Thomas realized that the mercenary had still not come back. Though the man was probably checking the area, the fact that he kept on disappearing each time they stopped caused suspicion to rise within him, a kind of professional beacon alert, that despite his fatigue, pushed him to wander after the mercenary.

Thomas was about to head back toward the others when he heard a moan. With a hand, he swept away a curtain of creepers and cursed.

The man was curled in a tight ball on the ground, shaking, his eyes wide opened and dripping tears. In a leap, the young doctor was at his side. A burning heat radiated from his body. Damn... that was just the moment for a malaria crisis to hit him. The doctor berated himself for not having insisted earlier on giving him the treatment. With difficulty, he managed to haul him on his feet and lead him back to where the others rested.

"Ian!" Mi Swe exclaimed upon seeing them.

At once, she jumped to her feet and helped Thomas lie the sick mercenary down.

His mind racing, Thomas prepared several injections of quinine, antipyretic, and even antibiotics, having now a good idea of the man's weight to adjust the dose. But when he kneeled back next to him, the mercenary had curled again in a tight ball, leaving no access to his arms or possibility to unbuckle his pants.

Annoyed, the young doctor then stuck the first long needle in the mercenary's great gluteal muscle, above the thick fabric of his pants. The man let out a cry of pain at the second sting and Mi Swe hastily groped around for a stick of wood to bite. Only then did Thomas make the last injection before checking the man's vitals. Finding them alarming, the young doctor seized a pair of scissors, cut the fabric around the wounded biceps, and let out a short breath of relief. The one-inch gash was a bit swollen and red on the edge, but it was not seriously infected. So there was just the malaria crisis to manage. For peace of mind, he rolled the bottom of his pants and checked his calves for a snake bite, and when he cleared the last possibility, he focused back on the arm that probably a bullet had grazed.

As he cleaned the wound, the youngest child came and kneeled next to him. Mi Swe gently said something to him. At once, the child joined his hands together, whispered a prayer, and moved away. Dusk was falling when he came back with his arms loaded with wood.

Thomas nodded to himself. Indeed, they were not going to move tonight like the mercenary had planned. Nor tomorrow, if he had his say. But had he? With each hour that passed by, the people searching for them came closer and it scared him. Even if the rescue party found them first, what would the Burmese soldiers do with Mi Swe and the children?

The young doctor began to wish not to be found at all when the mercenary, still in fetal position, suddenly woke up in distress.

"How do you feel?" he asked, straightening to take his pulse on the neck. It was rushing.

"It hurts, doc..."

Thomas frowned. Could have he missed an injury? "Where?"

"My arm..."

Thomas' brow furrowed deeper. There was no reason. At least, not at such a point. The wound was superficial. Worried, he retrieved the flashlight attached to the mercenary's backpack and directed the beam on the arm to check again. Thomas' eyes widened as he gasped. There were more than a dozen pink pale stings. One or two could be mosquito bites, but the man's flesh was riddled without any possible doubt. Syringe holes.

"Dammit..." he cursed, shaking his head out of dread. Why had he not seen this sooner? Why?!

Now he understood the man's reluctance to let himself be examined.

Stunned by the extent of the error in diagnosis, Thomas stared at the man writhing in pain. How long had the man been in withdrawal? He wondered, trying to remember all the signs the mercenary's body had given since he had burst into his office two nights ago. His nervousness, the short temper, the endurance beyond human limits, impervious to his body pains or needs, save for one craving of course... Heroin? Many drugs circulated amongst the soldiers in Vietnam; there was no reason why mercenaries in the region would not be plagued too.

He must have been stretching his doses, Thomas pondered as he remembered his morning feverish look and energetic demeanor. It probably was his last shot, hence his hurry. He knew he would not last long after it.

The man suddenly let out a terrible cry of pain, causing everybody to jump and stare around in suspicion.

"Do something, Doc! Cut it off! I don't care, cut my bloody arm off!"

"You need to calm down. It's just a scratch, nothing more. You feel the pain more intensely because of the withdrawal. Take slow, deep breaths and calm down."

"It hurts so bad, doc, it-"

"I know, calm down now. Breathe deeply. That's it. Again... What's your name?"

"O'Neill. Ian O'Neill."

"Mine's Thomas Wayne. And where do you come from, Ian?"

"Andhra Pradesh..."

"India? Born there?"

The mercenary nodded. "Hyderabad..."

"It's on the bay of Bengal?"

"No... inland... suffocating... like here... And you?"

Thomas breathed a sigh of relief, glad to see that the mercenary understood the maneuver and made the needed effort to focus on something else than pain.

"Gotham City, United States."

"My condolences, doc."

Thomas chuckled, surprised. He had not foreseen that the mercenary could have a sense of humor. "Arh, it's not that bad, really. We have a cold but short winter, a hot but short summer, and pleasant weather in between. You should come and see for yourself."

"Your border officers might not wish to let another Brit settler roam their ground... It hurts..."

Thomas clenched his own jaw upon watching the pain snatching tears from the mercenary's eyes.

"I already gave you all I could without risking complications. You have to try to sleep it through."

"I can't..." O'Neill hissed. "I just can't..."

Despaired to be so powerless, Thomas caught the man's hand and squeezed it. The mercenary's back arched during a couple of seconds before falling limp, leaving his owner gasping for breath and moaning, restless.

Then, a few, quiet minutes passed by. Hoping that the mercenary was falling asleep or losing consciousness, both being acceptable options under the circumstances, the young doctor straightened up, and was massaging his legs to get blood flooding in them again, when O'Neill suddenly rolled on his side. With horror, Thomas saw the blade of a small, curved dagger springing. Heart leaping his chest, the young doctor reacted without thinking and snatched it from the mercenary's shaking hand.

"Ian?! Focus on my voice and calm down... take a deep breath... good. Another one. That's it," he said, putting the dagger out of the mercenary's reach.

For a brief instant, O'Neill seemed to have managed to have regained control, until he became agitated again.

"Tell me, Ian, how a British settler converts to Sikhism?" Thomas asked, for he had noticed that the dagger was a Kirpan and found the possession by a mercenary quite surprising knowing the principles of honesty and uprightness in one's life praised by the religion.

O'Neill set his gaze in the distance, and Thomas wondered if he might have committed a blunder. Maybe it was a souvenir from a deceased friend.

But in the shadows that the camp fire's flames dispelled, a faint smile appeared on the mercenary's lips, drawing the indefinable expression of nostalgia on his face.

"My father's driver, he came earlier to take me out of school one day... it was a couple of weeks before the partitioning of the country... the city was just chaos... He hid me with his family until the fights ceased... my father... my father..." Ian paused and shook his head before continuing, "A week later, Alfred – it was easier to pronounce than his real name - he brought me to the authorities... but when he realized that the orphanages overflowed, he took me back to his home. He had three older daughters... one had died with her husband in the clashes the precedent year... so he kept me with his two grand-sons, until he died too..."

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be... there is no mourning in Sikhism. Just joy that the soul is finally reunited with God." The smile on O'Neill's face faded in a pleading wince. "It hurts so much doc... knock me out... please..."

"I swore to do no harm."

"Bullshit!"

At his unexpected cry, Mi Swe rushed to the mercenary's side, and while he struggled to keep the mercenary immobile, she put a kiss on the latter's scorched lips. At once, O'Neill snapped out of his fight.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." he began to cry as she cradled his head against her chest and rocked him back and forth.

Relieved, Thomas let out a deep sigh and moved away to leave them some privacy. As he sat down and massaged his sore neck, a soft humming made him turned his eyes back toward them. A sad smile drew on his face upon seeing O'Neill asleep in the frail woman's arms. Not daring to move and break the spell, Thomas closed his own eyes and let the humming lull him too.

* * *

It was another kind of humming that stirred Thomas Wayne back to consciousness in the morrow. A lower, more ominous one.

Thomas looked up and frowned, expecting to see a storm bursting.

"It's the third time they flew around."

Now recognizing the grave sound of a helicopter, Thomas turned his head toward the mercenary. His wide eyes stared absently at the dense foliage in front of him.

"How do you feel?" he asked, moving to O'Neill's side to take his vitals. The clammy feel of his skin as he took his pulse worried him. Keeping his concerns to himself, Thomas took his pressure. It was damn too low.

"I've marked a point on the map, seven miles East of the border. It's a small, unlisted village. If you leave now, you'll reach it before nightfall tomorrow. Ask for Kob Chai and tell him you come from me. He'll help Mi Swe join their people and get you to Bangkok. I'm sorry to have dragged you into this, Doc."

Thomas took a deep breath. Again, he got the feeling that the mercenary knew from the beginning that he would not be able to fulfill his mission, and that it was one of the reasons he had come to seek his help.

"I don't have a habit to give up on my patients, especially in the wilderness."

"Don't worry for me, Doc. I'll survive. I just need to rest and you need to go on."

Lying next to O'Neill, Mi Swe stirred out of sleep at their voices, and raised on her elbows. She stared at them gravely for a moment before talking. A short but very sharp sentence.

"What did she say?"

"Bloody hell, Doc, drag her away, carry her if necessary," O'Neill whispered.

"And why would I do such a thing?" Thomas asked, an eyebrow raised.

Without waiting for an answer, Thomas seized the mercenary's uninjured arm, wrapped it around his neck and lifted O'Neill on his feet. At once, Mi Swe packed the few belongings they had, helped the injured boy to stand up, and all together, they set themselves on the path.

However, they had not covered a mile that it became obvious that their venture was hopelessly slow. Thomas continued to make them walk for another mile before calling for a rest, near a small stream. While they drank and refreshed themselves, the young doctor raised an anxious glance at the canopy. It was not as dense as in the jungle and he could see the low, heavy clouds moving fast overhead. His worries increased. They did not need the skies to unleash a torrential rain on their head and make the trail even more treacherous than it was already.

Feeling overwhelmed by this new responsibility, Thomas cast a glance at his two patients. The young one seemed to hold on; O'Neill was more problematic. He had worn himself too thin the last few days, and no matter how disciplined and resilient his mind was, there were limits to what his body could endure. A red line not to cross. The fact that the mercenary let him lead the way without interfering made him fear that he was already well beyond his limits. This forced hike was going to kill him anyway.

Walk for short intervals, drink, eat, get rest in between, and pray that they did not cross a patrol's path. That was all he could do to increase his chances of survival.

And so did Thomas, leading them toward the border by making short hops, one at a time.

According to the map, they were one mile west of the border when Maung, who had ventured further ahead, came back in panic.

Tension spiked among the little group.

With a weak voice, O'Neill asked him for the map. Thomas watched the mercenary's feverish eyes digging a hole in the crumpled paper before he raised a shaking finger and pointed at the hollow between two nearby hills. Standing nearby to help the mercenary walk, the young doctor surrendered the lead, and shortly after, O'Neill told them to crouch beneath a large fallen trunk before placing more branches and leaves above them.

More concerned by the army than by the presence of snakes, Thomas watched through the foliage O'Neill climb the steep slope on his right, stop on an almost even overhanging, and bury himself under the thick layer of humus. It seemed to him that the mercenary had barely disappeared from his sight when branches cracked above him.

For the first real time, Thomas felt in his guts what it was to be afraid for his and others' lives.

Holding his breath, he stared through the branches at the soldiers passing by them without stopping.

Minutes passed by. In the fragile safety of the half darkness, no one dared to move, and the young doctor understood that they all waited for O'Neill to come out first. And when time stretched without any signal from his part, Thomas' relief flickered like the flame of a candle in the wind. Were the soldiers still there or had O'Neill fainted? Tense, he decided to wait half an hour before moving out to check by himself when he saw the mercenary crawling out of his hiding place. But again, his relief was short.

At mid-slope, O'Neill's legs buckled under him.

Thomas heard Mi Swe gasp behind him as she sprung out of their cover and kneeled at the mercenary's side, speaking to him while Thomas checked his pupils. A strong heat emanated from O'Neill's neck. With the young woman's help, he then dragged him under the shade of the trunk.

"Su wa yun, go" she said with pleading eyes. "Go. Help," she repeated, taking out the map and giving it to him. Then, she tapped her chest, said her name, and pointed to the ground.

Thomas swallowed a lump as he realized that it was indeed the best solution. Even if he was not particularly moved by the idea of leaving the little family so close to to the border with soldiers patrolling around. He turned his gaze on O'Neill, knowing that the mercenary would never agreed to such a risk taking. Thomas shook his head. O'Neill was not in any state to protest. It was his decision to make. And that, his profession had taught him how to do, rationally and quickly.

With a nod, Thomas put down his backpack and opened it. Then, he prepared an adrenaline syringe and gave it to Mi Swe along with his stethoscope. In the limited Burmese he knew, and her limited English too, he explained when and how to use it. Assured that she had understood, he cast a last look on the little group, took the map, the compass, and left.

* * *

**Thailand,**

**Takhli USAF Base,**

**July, 27th, 1969**

Thomas Wayne pushed the door of the infirmary bedroom as silently as possible and peeked inside.

"Hey! Finally awake," he said to O'Neill as he entered.

"Where am I? Arh..."

"Stay on your back, you have a broken rib," the young doctor said as he headed toward the bottom of the bed and cast a look at the medical file hung to the bar.

"How did I-"

O'Neill paused as the zoom of a plane made the walls shake.

"Break a rib?" Thomas finished for him as he examined the last records. "You went into cardiac arrest in the chopper," he explained as he remembered feeling more than hear the bone crack under his hands.

"You're going to be fine," he then added with a confident smile.

"I guess then that a broken rib is a bargain..."

Another plane took off and interrupted him.

"Mi Swe and the kids... what happened to them?" O'Neill asked when the sound lowered enough.

The young doctor pulled the chair in the corner of the room and sat down.

"I found your friend, and like you said, he took care of them. I don't know more."

Biting his lips, O'Neill nodded and set his gaze on the small window.

"I'm going to let you rest," Thomas said, "I'll come back later."

As he reached the door, the mercenary's voice sounded.

"Hey, doc."

Thomas craned his neck to look at him.

"Thank you for everything."

"You're welcome," he replied before walking out, and let the mercenary deal with his emotions in private.

The few days he had spent in the wild with them had been enough to understand that the young Burmese woman and O'Neill had shared a deep link. To realize that it was now broken was painful, even for him.

"Mr. Wayne?"

Thomas raised his eyes from the ground upon hearing his name and gasp upon seeing the embassy employee who had welcomed him at the helicopter's landing four days ago standing in front of him with a grave expression on the face.

His brow furrowed, Thomas followed him in the twists and turns of the military base to a small office without any windows. The man waved him to take a seat, sat down behind his desk, and opened the brown folder on the desk that was stamped "confidential".

"I developed these pictures an hour ago," the man said, sliding a couple of black and white pictures toward him.

Anxious, Thomas seized them and gasped out of horror. It was Bok Chai's village.

"From the report, an armed group made an incursion the day after your evacuation. There's no way to tell if your friend's friends have escaped, but things look pretty bad. I seriously doubt that the fate of a woman and two nippers was of any interest, and coincidences are rare nowadays. What I want to say, Mr. Wayne, is that if I were your mercenary pal, I'd find myself a deep hole somewhere far away from here."

"Can you make him leave the country under another identity?"

"We're not the Church, Mr. Wayne. Charity is not our business. And when we give, it is very less for a lot in return."

"Would a drug cartel be enough?"

The embassy employee straightened in his chair.

"If he has reliable information, paths, codes, names of course... we might consider."

Thomas nodded gravely. This was not going to be easy. Damn it! He had just told the man that Mi Swe was safe... the young doctor shook his head, shocked and despaired. Saddened to beyond belief. His profession had trained him on how to announce bad news, but it did not make it any easier. Maybe it was best to let O'Neill sleep through the night. Maybe not. The fact that he could not stand up on his own right now gave at least the insurance that he would not do anything stupid, like rushing in the mountains to discover by himself what had happened.

"Can you do something for the young woman and the children he tried to save?"

The employee shook his head. "Believe me, if they are still alive, it is best not to attract any attention on them."

Thomas sighed heavily and nodded. "I'll talk to him."

"Good."

* * *

**Five years later...**

**United States of America,**

**Gotham City.**

The first shy ray of sun filtered through the window of Wayne Manor's kitchen. Standing in front, Ian O'Neill's piercing blue eyes scanned the awaking landscape, searching for any disturbance, any misplaced thing, a broken branch, a flower pot not exactly at the same position than the day before, a silhouette... Nothing raised an alarm.

O'Neill made a few steps on his right, repeated the careful scan, nodded in satisfaction, and craned his neck to cast a brief glance at the clock above the door.

It was ten past five.

On a usual day, he would be five minutes late for his morning jog. A pleasant and, at this early hour, discreet measure that allowed him to check on the grounds for any sign of intrusion. But this was not a usual day.

As he crossed the reception hall toward the large staircase in white polished marble, with a carafe and one cup on a tray, he felt a foreign nervousness speeding up his pace. Relieved that no one was around to see him, he forced himself to stop on the landing, took a deep breath, and resumed his way with more control on his limbs. But just as he opened the massive double door leading to the east wing of the manor, a cry echoed. A baby cry! His eyes widened and a smile appeared on his stern face. Already?

A smile on the face, Ian O'Neill straightened and walked down the corridor toward the office and the adjacent lounge, specially redesigned to welcome the new member of the Wayne family.

As he put down the tray on a side table between two windows, he anxiously stared at the door, anticipating that by the power of the cries, the baby must be a healthy boy. He got the confirmation a few seconds later when Thomas Wayne stepped out.

"Alfred? Let me present you Bruce Anthony Thomas Wayne."

O'Neill's smile broadened as he caught sight of the so small baby's face in the middle of the white blanket. Chuckling, he said: "He looks like he just fought the MMA finale, but I'll protect him with my life, sir."

"I know you will. Care to hold him? I need to go back to Martha's side."

Too moved to talk, Ian nodded and Thomas Wayne placed the wrapped up baby in his arm.

"See? He likes you already," the young doctor said at the sight of his son stopping to moan and yawn so wide that he snatched both men a hearty laugh.

Then, as Thomas came back in the lounge with tears of pure joy making his eyes sparkling, Ian started to walk up and down the corridor, cradling a sleeping baby in his arms, feeling that for a long time, he belonged somewhere again.

He was Alfred Pennyworth, and this little man was going to change his life forever.

* * *

_In For A Penny, In For A Pound._


End file.
